


Ascent from the Sea

by muselives



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-30
Updated: 2010-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muselives/pseuds/muselives
Summary: Ariadne drifts and has nightmares until Arthur finds her.
Relationships: Ariadne/Arthur (Inception)





	Ascent from the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> [2021-02-20 author's note] Reposted from LJ, for Kitoky. No new edits.
> 
> [original 2010-09-30 author's note] _Inception_ is incredibly difficult to write for but I really enjoy trying. Arthur/Ariadne UST. Spoilers through the movie. Unbetaed.

On the other side of customs, once Cobb walks through baggage and disappears into the crowd, Ariadne realizes there is nothing for her in L.A.

She wills herself not to look for the others. For this job, they were a team but only for the job. They will scatter now and disappear. She doesn't have the means to hold them. She has to do this on her own.

Half-running from the airport, she hails a cab and throws her luggage inside. She sinks against the seat, throws her head back and sighs. "I need a drink."

"Lady," says the driver, watching her in the rear view, "You and me, both."

*

  
"In business news, Robert Fischer, heir of the Fischer-Morrow conglomerate, has decided to dismantle his late father's empire in an effort to, quote, 'Create something uniquely my own.' Fischer made the announcement last Friday after his father's funeral. The decision has sent shockwaves through market and experts predict the full effects will be felt for years to come. For further analysis, we go now to Paul Barrett. Paul?" 

*

  
The money, frankly, is obscene.

Every time she stares at her bank account, she wonders how the hell someone wouldn't notice this. Why FBI, CIA, whoever the hell is in charge of this stuff hasn't kicked their way through her door, asking her questions, locking her in a cell.

_A safe or a cell. Fill it with your secrets._

She can go back to Paris. She can go anywhere in the world.

She could go under again.

If she's not careful, she knows what she'll become.

*

  
But she still has dreams. 

*

  
Paris is familiar and welcomes her back with casual, noncommittal care. It reminds her of the sophisticate mother who had children as a result of other amusements and primarily delegates their well-being to nannies while still trotting them out for the odd social occasion.

The bridge does not bend to her will when she walks on her way to school. On the other hand, strange women do not stab her to death, so she figures it all evens out.

Her degree is so close. Her parents will be proud. She has job offers now from people who have no idea what she is truly capable of.

She's also obscenely rich.

What happens next is anyone's guess.

*

  
After finals, she flies to Japan. She signs up for a tour group and switches hotels every three nights. The architecture is beautiful. She doesn't speak a lick of Japanese. Her mind is forced to wander.

She notices the man with the ponytail. The first time, he looks almost like a biker; he wears a black leather jacket that fits him like a glove. The second time, he looks completely different, an anonymous business man in the hotel lobby. She loses track of his disguises after that.

She is foolishly hoping that Saito will notice her playing in his backyard. It doesn't occur to her that someone else may have assigned her a tail.

*

  
When she returns to the hotel, she discovers the ponytail man and two others have broken into her room. Her tail has been knocked unconscious, bound and gagged, and stuffed in her bathroom. She doesn't notice because of the others occupying the room.

"You should be more careful, sweetheart," says Eames as his greeting. He sits comfortably at the chair at the desk, gun trained on the door, looking very much at his ease. Was it difficult for him to break into her room? Probably not. She steps inside and closes the door behind her.

Arthur is standing at the window, his back turned towards her. She can barely make out his reflection in the glass. He looks... like himself. Calm. Collected. In control.

"I didn't know you two were here."

"We weren't." Eames chuckles. "Arthur found us a job. We were supposed to pick you up in Paris but--"

"I wasn't there," she finishes. A few steps more and she comes to the edge of the bed. She sits, looks between them. "What's the job?"

"Complicated." Having chosen to join the conversation, Arthur turns to face her. There's something more to his gaze now that she has the original and not its translucent duplicate. Not as controlled as she wanted to believe, perhaps. She drops her gaze, refusing to stare.

Eames rises, tucks the gun in the back of his pants and lifts his jacket from the back of his chair. "You pack," he instructs, Arthur moving to his side, both men towards the door. "We'll meet you in the lobby."

She barely nods and they are gone.

*

  
The plane is for London but she wonders if that will just be a stop along the way. Eames is sitting behind them with an older gentleman who snores. Arthur offered her the window seat; she declined.

At some point, she nods off. She wakes up and discovers that despite spacious first class seating, she has somehow been resting against Arthur's arm.

The smile he offers her is so slight she thinks it may not have been real. Maybe, she decides as she gets her carry on out of the overhead, she'll just say it was and let it be.

*

  
She dreams about beaches with endless shorelines and buildings crumbling into the sea. 

*

  
"Can you design it?" Arthur asks, some polite formality to give her an opportunity to back out of the job if she prefers.

Eames is off in some other corner of the abandoned shop. Every time the forger flips that chip over his fingers, the shadows change their shape, flitting over the far wall. The patterns could fascinate a viewer for hours.

She keeps her focus on Arthur and the job. "Sure. How long do I have?"

"Not long," he admits.

"Alright," she shrugs and then pushes him out of her focus, settling in for the job.

*

  
Dreaming is exhausting. Her arms and legs are sore from swimming endlessly towards a shore she never reaches. Sometimes she gulps down saltwater as she screams for someone to save her but no matter how much she swallows, she never seems to drown. 

*

  
He notices the first time they go under. She just doesn't know it until they both come back.

Eames is off doing whatever he's supposed to do to prepare for this job. It's just them in this big, empty building, poorly lit by old and yellow lights. Arthur coils the tubing at a slow and methodical pace. It's only once the kit's put away that he asks, "How often do you dream?"

She rubs her wrist absentmindedly, happy to be free of the tube. "Pretty regularly."

"Any nightmares?"

She shouldn't tell him. She can't risk being like Cobb. It's none of his damn business. If she doesn't trust him, who will she trust?

"Some," she admits at last.

His hand rests on the case and he gives her a measured gaze. "They won't last long much longer. Unless you want to give it up."

She shakes her head and she knows that he understands. She's acquired the taste and she has the talent: there's no turning back now.

*

  
"Cobb!" she screams at the endless ocean. "Goddamn it! _Cobb!_ " 

*

  
The job goes off without a hitch. She takes the first level, Arthur takes the second. Eames performs the extraction and in three hours, they're sitting in a bar in Germany, each with their own preferred drinks, hardly speaking and completely content.

Eames does disappear part way into the evening. Arthur looks particularly unconcerned with this development and picks up Eames' part of the tab. Since she's a little wobbly when she finally stands up, he braces her and calls her a cab. He keeps an arm around her, just to steady her, as he escorts her to her room. A gentleman thief, through and through.

"How much longer will they last?" she asks as he helps her with her keycard. He pushes open the door and fixes her with a look. "The dreams," she clarifies as she steps inside.

"It depends," he answers, remaining in the hall.

"Can I make them go away?"

For a moment, she detects a flicker of concern. "I don't know."

She braces herself against the door frame and sighs. Her eyes flicker over Arthur's features, over his impeccable suit. Would he stay with her if she asked? If she told him that she dreams of dying in the limbo shown to her by Cobb?

"Go back to Paris," he says suddenly, quietly but still a command. "I'll find you and we'll work something out."

She blinks. Then she smiles. "OK," she murmurs as she straightens up, one hand remaining the steady anchor on the door frame.

Impulsively (it seems impulsive, she never imagined him to be impulsive), Arthur's hand cups her cheek and his lips brush her forehead in a goodnight kiss. He completes the ritual with a whispered, "Sweet dreams, Ariadne," before withdrawing and retreating quickly for the elevator at the end of the hall.

She leans out of her doorway very precariously to watch him go. Everything wobbles when she stands up and she muses on inner ear function and balance as she makes her way to the bed. She collapses on top of the covers, only bothering to kick off her shoes before her eyes flutter shut.

*

  
She passes Cobb on the central staircase of a brightly lit official building. He touches her arm as she heads up and he walks down and she catches his smile from the corner of her eye. The misplaced scent of salt briefly taints the air.

"Ariadne!"

She turns back to her goal, to the second floor. Arthur is standing at the rail looking patient, professional.

A deep breath catches no lingering hint of the ocean, just the uncomfortable chill of AC. Cobb is gone.

"Ariadne," Arthur calls down, "We don't have all day."

"Alright!" she calls back up as she hurries to ascend the stairs.


End file.
